With a growl, he cups my face, and his palm is warm against my cheek as he leans forward and presses his forehead to mine, squeezing his eyes shut.
“You need to be smarter,malyshka.” His thumb brushes across my cheekbone. "You need to stay away from me."
It’s a desperate plea.
No, it’s a warning.
But then he lets me go.
“Go to bed.”
“Nikolai…”
“It’s not a request.” His words are hard.
I’ve been dismissed.
I rise on shaky legs, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Goodnight," I whisper.
He doesn't respond.
But as I reach the staircase, his fingers find the keys again. And the notes that follow me up the stairs sound like longing and regret.
Like maybe he's just as trapped as I am.
18
HOLLY
The next morning, I’m with Katya and Andrei preparing food for the expected snowstorm.
The kitchen smells of cinnamon and butter, and I'm elbow-deep in cookie dough when the first gust of wind rattles the windows.
"Storm is getting closer," Katya says from where she's rolling out pastry at the counter.
I glance toward the window and my stomach clenches. Heavy clouds press down on the mountains, and the trees are already bending under the wind's assault.
"How long until it hits?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Andrei looks up from where he's organizing supplies in the pantry. "Weather service says a few hours. Maybe less."
A few hours.
My hands are still in the dough. I haven't seen Nikolai all morning. He skipped breakfast again, and Katya mentioned he’s been locked in his den since before sunrise, taking calls in that low, dangerous voice that makes my spine tingle even when I can't hear the words.
I knead the dough harder than necessary, trying not to think about last night. About sitting beside him at the piano. About the way his forehead pressed against mine and his thumb brushed my cheek as he told me to stay away from him.
And how badly I wanted him to kiss me.
"You are thinking too hard," Katya says, pulling me from my thoughts. "The dough, she does not need so much aggression."
"Sorry." I ease up, shaping the dough into a ball with hands that are only slightly trembling.
The wind howls again, stronger this time, and I flinch.
Katya's expression softens. "You do not like storms."
